Through The Lens
by Stenciled In
Summary: Spencer sees Ashley sing at a bar, and decides to make a video about her for her film class. Spencer's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: my owning South of Nowhere and characters= unfortunately nonexistent. **

**A/N: this is my first story! So pretty please tell me what you think? I'd love to hear from you! (:**

I swirl my drink around in my cup absentmindedly. I zone out as I try to clear my mind of all thoughts. These last few weeks have been horrible. Actually horrible. Lately, I've been in a real slump. Every time I pick up my camera, it's with a sense of trepidation and dread. Everything I film has been falling flat. It's lacked life, a point, and, well, quality. Usually, all my nerves dissipate when I have my camera in hand, so this is weird and completely frustrating.

For my film class at UCLA, I have a major project to do. It only has to be a few minutes, and we've been given plenty of time already. What do I have to show for all that time? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. It's due next week, and I don't even know what it'll be about. My teacher gave us free reign. Total artistic control. Normally, I'd be thrilled. Now? Not so much. I feel as though I need some sort of direction, at the very least.

Hence why I'm sitting at this bar. My friend Chelsea thought it'd do my good to get out for a bit. Loosen up, or whatever. It's been tough for the both of us. So even though we're underage, we decided to come. We're nineteen, so we really shouldn't be here. But that's what fake IDs are for, right?

"Spence?" I glance over at Chelsea. "I know it sucks right now, but it'll get better. I promise," she gives me a sad smile "I miss him too." She says it so quietly, tears threatening to overcome her.

I reach over and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. It helps relieve some of the tightness in my chest. It's the best thank you I can give, since I can't trust my voice right now. I'm afraid I'll start crying if I try to talk.

I lost my brother Clay two years ago. It was prom night, and I was there with my boyfriend Aiden. Chelsea and Clay were together. We were happy; smiling, laughing, dancing. Then everything shifted suddenly. There was a drive-by shooting. The moment the first gun shot sounded, the world froze. When a bullet hit Aiden, I stopped breathing. But when Clay was hit, my world shattered.

Clay was not only the best brother; he was also an amazing person. He was smart and funny, caring and accepting. Sometime when I was dating Aiden, I started to realize that I didn't really like him in a boyfriend-type way. In fact, I found that even though he was cute and sweet, my eyes were constantly being drawn to other girls. I told Clay this, and he smiled and gave me a big hug. He told me that he'd love me no matter what.

I was going to tell Aiden that we couldn't be together anymore sometime after prom. He'd already bought the tickets, and I couldn't bring myself to dump him mere days before the dance. It was just too cruel. Instead of being a fun night though, prom turned into one ugly mess.

Clay, the one person in the world who deserved it least of all, died on the way to the hospital. Three other people died too. Aiden wasn't one of them. Through some miracle, he lived. And I resented him for it. Clay should've got to live. He was a better person than Aiden. Hell, he was a better person than anyone. I hated myself for thinking like that. But I couldn't help it. Needless to say, Aiden and I were through almost immediately.

The anniversary of Clay's death is a few weeks away. This time last year, I almost couldn't handle the pain. I cried myself to sleep every night. I still do sometimes, but not as often. I almost wasn't strong enough to keep myself together. I somehow managed though. Ever since then, everything was getting a little easier with each passing day. But now, everything's just so _fresh_ again. It's like reliving the horror that was watching my brother bleed to death, the life fading from his eyes.

Lost in thought, I vaguely hear someone being introduced. Gentle acoustic guitar sweeps through the room, pulling me out of my thoughts. The strumming is beautiful, and the combination of it and the little amount of alcohol I've had is having a relaxing effect. A husky voice floods the bar. It's beautiful. It rolls in waves, and washes over me. My eyes lift from my drink and are drawn to the singer.

My heart stops when I see her, I swear it does. She's sting atop a wooden stool, strumming her red acoustic guitar. The bar is dimly lit, and a dull spotlight is trained on her. My eyes travel up her body. Black converse, dark skinny jeans, and a perfectly low-cut white halter top. Her clothes show off her body amazingly. And she's got a great body. Like seriously fantastic.

My gaze finally settles on her face; all trace of coherent thought flew out the window. She is quite possibly the most gorgeous person on this planet. As she's singing, she smiles, flashing straight white teeth, and crinkling her nose adorably. Scratch that. She _is_ the most gorgeous person on this planet.

Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but a few strands of her curly brown hair have escaped, and frame her face beautifully. She has her side-swept bangs died pink, but not obnoxiously so. It's cute. As she sings, she mostly keeps her eyes closed, but when she opens them, I find myself staring into chocolatey orbs that someone could get lost in and wander around in forever. Part of me wanted to, but she closed her eyes again. That was better though; I was on a mission to commit every detail of this gorgeous creature to memory. Her lips are soft and pink, and definitely kissable.

I've forgotten how to breathe. It's easy, right? In, out; in, out. Except my body won't do it. It seems to be stuck on the "in". After a few seconds of this I manage to figure it out. I flush as my breath sounds more like a gasp for air. Chelsea's giving me a weird look, and I know exactly why. I'm acting like a lunatic.

Right then though, my focus is pulled away from my mental health, because the singer smiles and stand up. She pulls her guitar strap over her head as the bar applauds her. I clap too, probably a little too enthusiastically, but whatever. She blushes lightly at the applause (how fucking adorable can she get?) and walks off to put her guitar away.

I mentally smack myself. Why the hell wasn't I listening when she was introduced? I need to know her name. Need to.

"Hey, Chels,"

"Yeah?"

"What's that girl's name?" I try to sound nonchalant, but I don't think it's working very well.

"Who? The girl who was just singing?" She feigns ignorance, but I can see that playful smirk dancing across her features.

"Yes," I grit my teeth, "the girl who was just singing. What's her name? I didn't catch it."

"Her name's Ashley Davies," Chelsea was definitely enjoying this too much, "and I saw you totally checking her out. You should go talk to her."

I snort in response.

"Why not?"

"Uhhhh.. how about because our conversation would go something like this "hey, so I was watching you sing, and I think I'm in love with you. Kay thanks bye.""

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink. I'm still watching the girl. Ashley. What a fitting name. A pretty name for a pretty girl. All I can think about is how she needs to be in front of a camera. She's got charisma, that's for sure. And she's got looks. And with her smile and eyes, she's golden. She belongs on a television screen, for sure. A thousand thoughts race through my head, until a single one stops them in their tracks. I could film her. I could get my project done, have a reason to talk to her, and spend time with her. A smile graces my lips. This is absolute perfection.

**A/N: Sorry it's so long! So should I write more, or scrap it?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: my owning South of Nowhere and characters= unfortunately nonexistent. **

**A/N: Alrighty! Love to hear from you! Keep up the reviews? And a huuuuge thank you to everyone who'd reading this!**

"Chels!" My sudden exclamation makes her jump.

"What?"

"I know how I can talk to her!" She looks expectantly to me to continue, "well I could film her for my project!"

She considers my words before speaking. "One problem:" she starts slowly, "you've gotta actually find something to make your film about. You can't just make it about Ashley Davies; that's kinda creepy."

She has me there. That would be ridiculously creepy, not to mention stalkerish. I wrack my mind for ideas faster than I ever have before.

"Well," I start, gears churning in my head, "it could be about people getting a start in the music industry. Like young people trying to break into it. I could talk to other people who play at bars and cafes and stuff," I say hopefully.

Chelsea smiles, "that's a good idea," she points towards Ashley, "now go talk to her!" She gives me a little push in her direction when I stand up.

Nerves bubble up inside me as I make my way through the bar towards her. When I get close, I glance back at Chelsea. I don't know if I can go through with this. She flashes me a reassuring smile, and it gives me the tiny bit of confidence I need. I feel a rush of gratitude for her. I'm glad I know Chelsea; I don't know what I'd do without her.

Ashley's facing away from me, closing her guitar case. "Hey," I say, tentatively. She straightens up, turning to look at me. "My name's Spencer," I offer.

"Ashley," she responds. Her voice when she's talking is every bit as beautiful as it is when she's singing. A small smile plays on her lips, and there she goes, giving me butterflies again.

"I'm a film student at UCLA, and I'm doing a short film about people trying to break into the music industry for one of my projects. Would you be interested in being in it?" The words tumble out of my mouth, maybe slightly too fast.

"Really?" Her eyes light up, and her face is incredulous as she asks "you want me?" I nod in confirmation. "Wow. Well…wow. Thank you! I'd love to be in it!"

Her smile is infectious, and I find I'm grinning too. "Alright! Well I don't have my camera with me right now, so when's a good time for you?"

"Uhm," she looks adorable when she's thinking. "I'm free tomorrow. Does that work for you? "

"Tomorrow?" I mentally rearrange my schedule before replying, "Sure! Tomorrow sounds great! Call me with the time?"

Another smile, "sure," she pauses, "I need your number though."

"Oh, right! Sorry!" I rummage around in my purse until I find a pen. She holds her hand out. I take it gingerly, and try not to press too hard with the pen as I write. I scribble my name down, and my number underneath it. I cap the pen and am about to throw it in back in my purse when she gestures for it. I hand it to her, and she reaches out to take my hand.

"I get your number, it's only fair you get mine too," she says slightly flirtatiously, coupled with a winning smile. It's a wonder I can control myself around her. She only takes a minute to write down her information on my hand. Too soon she's let go, and is handing me my pen back. I toss it in my purse.

She looks at her palm briefly before her eyes flit back to my face. "Spencer," I don't think my name's ever sounded so good. ""Your name's beautiful. I love it."

A shy smile pulls at my lips. I'm about to say something, when she beats me to it. "I've gotta go now, but I'll see you tomorrow, Spence."

I don't know why I do it, but as she's turning away, I say "can't wait," flirtatiously. I'm absolutely mortified. One, I don't flirt with strangers. Two, she's probably straight. Three, even if she wasn't, she probably wouldn't be interested in me. I think it was the use of the nickname that made me do it.

She laughs and walks away. Just before she reaches the door, she throws a "neither," and a wink over her shoulder. I feel my face heat up as I try not to stare after her. Finally, I regain my composure and make my way back to where Chelsea's sitting, looking amused.

When I reach the table, my friend's opening her mouth to tease me. Before she can even say anything though, I grumble "shut up," and try to contain my blush. I train my gaze on my still half-full cup. _Half-full? Not half-empty? Huh. That's weird. _I think, a slight smile on my face.

"Sooooo, Spencer," this was inevitable. I knew sooner or later, I wouldn't be able to escape Chelsea. "You really like that girl, huh?"

I blush, which gives me away, but say "I can't really like her; I just met her," nonetheless.

She laughs, knowing I'm lying. She doesn't push it though, which I'm grateful for. I look up and give her a smile to show my gratitude. When I do, I notice that her eyes light up suddenly, and I know I'm about to get pulled out of this bar. I groan inwardly as she leaps up animatedly.

"Spence! I was just struck by inspiration! I have to paint! Now!" I gulp the last bit of my drink, wincing at the slight burn. We pay, and she grabs my hand and literally drags me all the way home. When Chelsea gets struck by an idea, she becomes Super-Psycho Woman on a Mission.

Our tiny apartment has basically been turned into an art studio. All the artwork hanging up is hers –at my request, not hers- and canvases are stacked everywhere. An easel is set up by the huge window. The window is really the reason we went for this apartment. It's huge, and has the most gorgeous view of both the ocean and the city.

Right now, Chelsea's flitting around like a bird. She's mumbling to herself, and I think she's trying to figure out what kind of a painting she's doing. She grabs a huge canvas and sets it up on the easel before practically sprinting off towards her paints. She grabs her acrylics and only settles down once she's sitting with her paintbrush in hand.

"Spence…" She looks expectantly at me.

"I know, I know," I say as I walk away. "I'm leaving." For some reason, Chelsea needs to be alone when she's working. I respect that. I head to my room, where I flop on the bed. Images of Ashley fill my mind when I close my eyes.

"Damn it." I whisper to no one in particular.

**A/N: Tada! Whatcha think?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still don't own SoN or the characters. I know, it's sad. XD**

**A/N: IMPORTANT: Spencer's project is gonna be due in a month, not a week.**

**Also, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's read any of this, regardless of if you like it or not; thank you to the people who reviewed; thank you to the people who alerted. (: I probably won't be posting for a while; at least a week. Vacation time!**

**lovelyday02, noodles307, MV23, adibou: awe, thanks! Glad you like it! Your reviews made my day. (:**

Morning comes too fast, like usual. Which is fine for normal people, because today's Saturday. You know, one of the two days a week where you can sleep till noon or later? Not here, no. Chelsea (curse her) is a morning person. One of those annoying it's-seven-a.m.-and-I'm-awake-and-cheerful morning people. God, they give me headaches.

It's not like she's loud or anything. So I'm not up obscenely early. She just thinks I shouldn't "waste the day sleeping" (her words, not mine). So around nine she comes in and gets me up. And by that, I mean drags me out of bed multiple times because I wind up crawling back in as soon as she's left the room at least three times.

I shouldn't complain. She makes me breakfast. Which is great since I suck at cooking. But really? Nine a.m.? It's pretty unfair. I sit across the table from her, scowling. Seriously, _why _is she so happy this early? She looks amused, and it's bewildering, frustrating, and _goddamn annoying. _

Everything starts looking a little better after I've downed my first cup of coffee. I pour myself another one before I even start on my breakfast. She's made bacon and scrambled eggs. I honestly love her. How on earth could I find someone this amazing annoying? I shovel the food into my mouth.

"Spence?" my mouth's full of egg, so I merely look up. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I swallow.

"No?" It comes out more of a question than anything.

"Nothing about a certain someone you're gonna be seeing today?"

"Ashley!" I leap up from my seat faster than Sheldon Cooper could say "bazinga". "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Where's my phone?" I'm running around like a crazy person right now, lifting up various objects and looking underneath them. "Chlesea! Have you seen my phone? What if she called already? Damn it! Where's my phone?" I'm practically hysterical by now.

Meanwhile, Chelsea's laughing so hard she's not making any noise. She's just sitting there shaking, gasping for breath every once in a while. She holds something up. My cell phone! I run across the room and lunge for it.

"So…you don't like her, right?" she manages to get out between her laughter.

"Oh, shut up and give me the phone," I say, playfully pushing her shoulder. She hands it over, shaking her head.

I grab the phone and slide it open. My stomach twists when I see there's a text from an unknown number. I'd forgotten to add Ashley's number to my contacts last night, so there's hope that it's from her! I click the message and read.

**9:13am **

**Hey Spence! It's Ashley, from last night. Are we still on for today? Gimme a call when you get this. (:**

I smile as I imagine her saying this with her raspy voice. Before I even realize it, I've hit the call button. I wander down the hallway as it rings.

"Hey," she answers.

"Hey, it's Spencer," I say.

"Oh! Hey Spencer! Did I wake you up?" Her voice is worried. It's cute.

I laugh before answering, "nah, my roommate did that. She's a morning person."

"Okay, good. Well not good that you got woken up! Just good that you know….I didn't wake you up," she rambles. I swear she's getting more adorable by the second.

"Ash?"

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling," I point out.

"I'm so sorry! I ramble when I'm nervous…"

"Don't apologize; it's cute," did those words actually just come out of my mouth? "And I make you nervous?" Seriously? I just said that too?

"Maybe a little," she says, the hint of a smile in her tone. "So I'm free all day. Whatever time works for you works for me."

I think for a second. I'm gonna need time to get showered, dressed, and looking decent. Well hopefully good, not decent. Because I get the distinct feeling that Ashley could look good in anything, so I'm going to have to try just to be on par with her.

"Uhm, how about lunch at noon, then we can come back to my place to shoot?"

"Sounds good! Where are we meeting for lunch?"

"Why don't you give me your address? I'll pick you up, then it can be a surprise." Even I can't believe the words that are coming out of my mouth at the moment. I'm making this sound like a date. Not that I don't want this not to be a date, because I totally do. I just don't think that's what she wants, so I'd better lay off.

"It's a date," she replies, leaving me wondering what exactly she means by it. She gives me her address, which I jot down on my hand under her name and number, and we hang up.

It's 11:20, and I'm freaking out. I have nothing to wear. I don't want to dress up too much, because it's not a date. It's me treating her to lunch for agreeing to be in my film. I can't go wearing something plain either, because I want to impress her, and don't want to seem like a boring person, or someone who doesn't care about their appearance.

I flop backwards onto my bed. It's hopeless. Chelsea walks by my door and notices the mountain of clothes on the floor.

"Girl, you've got a problem," she states. "You know you're coming back here to film after lunch, right?" She walks into my tornado-torn room and rummages around in the pile of discarded clothes. She tosses a pair a dark grey short shorts and a blue tank top to me. After that, she chucks me a see-through white shirt.

I nod in approval. How was that so easy for her?

"Thanks Chels! You're a lifesaver!"

"I know," she says with a wink.

She helps me shove all my clothes back into their drawers. I make my bed quickly. Everything's looking a lot better. Much less natural disaster-y. I give Chelsea a huge hug. I pull back when I notice the clock. 11:45. Shit.

**A/N: thanks for reading! So…next chapter's where it gets interesting! It probably won't be up for a while, but (hopefully) it'll be worth the wait!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. *SAD FACE***

**Huuuuuge thank you to everyone who's still reading this! And thank you to all the people who reviewed, favourited, and alerted! I love you all! (: Oh, and sorry if anything's wrong…I don't live in LA, and I've never even been there, so…**

I pull into Ashley's driveway a minute late. Not bad, considering I had to speed change, program her address into my GPS (I suck at directions), and drive there. I do a double-take when I see her house. I'm wondering if I have the right house when I kill the engine and get out. As I walk up to her front door, I can't help my mouth from hanging open.

It's big. No, wait, that's an understatement. It's huge. Enormous. Take your pick. The front of the sprawling house is the backdrop for flowers of every colour and kind. It's gorgeous. The house itself is extremely modern. The walls are a deep red-brown wood, with entire walls of windows. Also, there are balconies _everywhere_. There's a wraparound one on the second floor, and another two smaller ones on the third floor.

When I reach the front step, I ring the doorbell. Even the front door is impressive; it's large and made of thick wood. Suddenly I'm embarrassed to have offered for her to come to my house. What's she going to think when she sees my tiny apartment? _What's she going to think when she sees my car?_ I wish I owned something nicer than my old beat up Honda Civic.

I'm lost in thought (read: worries) when the door swings inward. Even though I only met her yesterday, she's more beautiful than I remembered. She flashes me a smile and steps onto the porch. We say our hellos as she locks the door. As we walk back to my car, we fall into a surprisingly easy conversation. I don't have to try to talk to her. It just comes naturally.

"So, is lunch still a surprise, or can you tell me?" She bats her eyes at me. I nearly tell her.

"Hey! Don't do that! You almost tricked me into telling you! No, no, no. It's still a surprise," I say with a laugh.

She fake-pouts, but it quickly turns into laughter. We carry on a light banter all the way from her house to the restaurant. As I drive, I find my tension easing. Ashley doesn't seem like the type to judge based on how much money you do or don't have. By the time I'm parking, I've decided that she doesn't seem the type to judge based off anything.

"You like Chinese food?" It occurs to me that I don't know what she likes, so the whole "surprise" thing probably wasn't the best idea.

"Like it? I love it!" She exclaims as we make our way into the restaurant.

"Whew, dodged a bullet there," I say with a smile. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Never," she replies with a coy smile. I smile back before turning to the hostess to ask for a table for two.

We're seated immediately, and I'm eager for the waitress to leave so we can get back to our conversation. As soon as she leaves, Ashley turns to me.

"So why the topic you picked for your film project?" She actually looks like she's intrigued.

"Honestly?" I figure I'd better just tell her. If I said anything else, it'd be a lie. And there's something about her that really makes me want to be open to her.

"Wouldn't take anything else," she states.

"Well I actually decided yesterday after I saw you sing. You kinda…inspired me, I guess," I look down quickly, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

I don't dare look up. She probably wants to leave, because I've gone and creeped her out already. Instead, I feel soft fingers on my chin, gently forcing my head up. I life my gaze to meet hers.

"That is honestly the sweetest thing anyone's ever told me," she says softly. Her fingers linger a moment longer before she lets them fall. She blushes delicately, and it's adorable. Just like pretty much everything else she does.

The rest of our lunch went without a hitch. The food was delicious, and the company was the very best. Our conversation flowed from one topic to the next. The more I learned about Ashley, the more I liked her. I discovered all the surface-things people get to know after meeting someone. Their likes and dislikes, hobbies, and interests.

I also got to know some of the things people only know if you knew them when it happened to them, or you're really close. I was touched that she came out to me. She said that it was something newly discovered, and something she wasn't comfortable telling people about. Also, I learned that her inspiration came from the infamous rocker Raife Davies- who happened to be her father. Well that explained the house.

Raife died in a car accident a little less than a year ago, and his two daughters -Ashley and Kyla- inherited his fortune. Ash managed to keep out of the tabloids, which is why I didn't recognize her. She didn't really want to talk about it, so I didn't push it. I just had to ask one question though.

"So how come you're playing in bars then? I mean, you've got talent, looks, and your dad was a legend."

"Well," she starts slowly, "I never wanted to be famous because my dad was. I want to be in the music industry because I'm good, not because I have-" her voice falters, and I find myself reaching for her hand, "had, sorry- a famous dad."

Neither of us pulls their hand back. Instead, Ash gives my hand a light squeeze, and thanks me quietly.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to thank me, silly," I smile at her. "You ready to go?" When she nods, I pay the bill that's been sitting in front of us for a few minutes. I stand and walk over to her, pulling her into a hug.

We make the short drive to mine and Chelsea's apartment. I hold the door open for her, apologizing for the mess. She doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she looks enthralled by the paintings.

"Did your roommate do these?" She asks, gesturing to the art-covered living room.

"Yeah, she did," I inform her.

"They're beautiful."

"Thank you!" Chelsea emerges from behind a shelf of paints. I didn't even know she was home. She makes her way toward us, weaving between piles of her scattered art supplies. "I'm Chelsea, by the way," She says with a warm smile that's typical of Chelsea.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ashley."

"Nice to meet you too," she turns to me. "I'll get out of your guys' hair in just a second," she says brightly.

Chelsea's true to her word. She cleans her painting stuff up quickly, and is out the door in minutes.

"You're roommate seems nice," Ash muses.

"Yeah, she's great," I agree. "So, I'll go get my camera. I'll be back in a second. Uhm, just find somewhere you want to sit for this, and I'll set up."

She nods, and I hurry to get my equipment. When I come back to the living room, I find her sitting in front of the window. I kinda figured she'd pick there; it's the best part of the apartment.

"This view is breathtaking," she says, still looking out the window. "Is here okay though? Like can we film here or is the lighting off, or….?"she trails off uncertainly.

"No, no, this is good. It's perfect," I flash a white smile in her direction. "So, you ready?"

For the first time, I see a different side of Ashley Davies. She looks…nervous? She bites her lip, which just about drives me wild. No gulps and nods uncertainly.

"Ash? You sure you're alright?" I ask, concerned about her change in behaviour.

"It's silly. I just get nervous in front of cameras."

"I don't get it. How can you sing in front of people and be fine, but not be when you're being filmed?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just that I know I'm a good singer, so I don't have anything to worry about. But when I'm being filmed, it's just me and my personality. And I don't know if that's anything people would like." She looks so vulnerable and broken sitting there. I put the camera down and put my arms around her.

"Hey, hey, hey. Your personality is beautiful. Everyone's gonna love you. I promise."

"I don't know…" she says reluctantly.

"But I do. Why don't we just start off with you playing a song?" I offer, and she smiles gratefully at me.

**A/N So I did manage to so this today, but it'll definitely be the last update for a week at the very least.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So I still don't own anything. XD**

**Thanks for reading, and so sorry for the huge wait! **

"Spence?"|

"Mmm?" I flick my eyes up to meet hers.

"I left my guitar in your car," she says, biting her lip.

"Oh, okay. I'll go grab it," I flash her a smile. "I'll be back in a minute," I say, standing up. I Grab my car keys from the counter as I walk past. Once I'm out the door, I find I'm pretty much flying down the stairs. I just want to hurry up and get back upstairs. I'm really looking forward to hearing her sing again. Well I'm also just looking forward to seeing her again, even though I saw her less than two minutes ago.

When I reach my car, I realize just how pathetic I am. I lean against the passenger door, banging my head softly against the window a few times. I open the door and grab the guitar case. It's surprisingly heavy, but it doesn't bother me. I lock my car, and, trying to exhibit a little bit of restraint, walk to the stairs. Then I lose control and take the steps two at a time. It's because I didn't want to keep her waiting, okay?

I slip into the apartment and glance around. Ashley's sitting in the same place she was before, staring out the window. Her eyes have this distant, far-away look in them, and I hate to break her reverie. I close the door behind me as quietly as I can, but she snaps out of her days as it clicks closed. For a fleeting second, I see the most heartbreaking emotion on Ashley's face. It's still distant, but I notice that there's something I didn't see before. A hint of sadness across her beautiful features. Then, so quickly I almost think I've imagined it, it's gone.

"That was quick!" She smiles dazzlingly up at me, and I swear I can feel my insides turn to mush.

"Yep!" I say brightly. "I'm really excited to hear you sing!" I pass the heavy case to her. She thanks me and sets it down, undoing the latches. She pulls her guitar out, and ducks under the strap.

"So what do you want me to sing?" She asks.

"Uhm, anything you want. I'm pretty sure you could sing any song and make it sound amazing," I grin at her.

"Okay," she pauses, thinking. "Would it be okay if I sang one of my dad's old songs?"

I smile, warm and genuine. "Sounds fantastic. Which one?"

"I was thinking about Hold On, is that okay?"

"That is better than okay!" It's hard to hold my excitement in. "That's my favourite Purple Venom song!"

"Mine too!" She says, her smile bright, but tinted with some heavier emotions. I want to ask her if she's alright doing this song, because it obviously reminds her of her father, but I decide against it. She needs this. She needs to be able to remember him without curling up in a ball and wanting to die. I know this because of Clay. For the longest time, I was as fragile as an eggshell when it came to Clay. I usually couldn't hold back the tears whenever I thought of him.

She sits again, and I take my place behind the camera. "Ready?" I ask. A small look of panic crosses her face, but she suppresses it and nods. I click the record button and watch her.

After she strums the first few chords, she relaxes wholly, and lets herself be swept up in the music. I notice how slender and perfect her fingers are as they glide across the neck of the guitar. I notice how her eyes are shining with unshed tears as she sings. How her curls catch the light just the right way. How her mouth curves into a beautifully sad smile.

I'm definitely considering the fact that the most gorgeous creature on the face of this planet is singing in my tiny apartment. It's a strange thought, but entirely true. As her voice trails off, a single tear slips down her perfect cheek. The last chord rings out seconds later. I let it taper off before shutting off the camera. Everything about that performance was beautiful. Stunning, really.

She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest, trying to make herself look smaller than she already is. Another tear traces its way over her smooth skin, and without even thinking, I close the distance between us and envelop her in a hug. I realize what I'm doing suddenly. I shouldn't be touching her. She probably thinks I'm super weird. I barely know her. I'm about to pull away when I feel her arms wrap around my waist. She tucks her head into the crook of my neck.

She lets out a heart-wrenching sob, and I tighten my grip on her subconsciously. My hands slide up and rub her rub her back –what I hope to be- soothingly. I murmur "it's okay," into her hair. I can feel her shaky breath on my collarbone slowly steadying. After another minute, she pulls back. Her eyes are red and puffy, her body trembling slightly.

"I'm so sorry," she says quietly, her eyes trained on the floor.

"Hey," I say softly. "Don't be."

I motion for her to follow me and walk over to the couch. I move some paintings from the cushions onto the floor, which is currently covered by a paint-splattered sheet. I take a seat in the spot I've cleared, and she sits next to me. Neither of us talk for a few minutes. Then she begins hesitantly.

"I'm sorry. I just-I just thought I could handle it, you know?" Her breath hitches. I know how hard it is for her to talk about this. I slip my hand over hers and give it a slight squeeze. She smiles gratefully at me and keeps going. "I tried for a few months to block every thought of him from my mind. It just hurt too much to think that I'll never see him again; that he's really gone. Then I realized that blocking out my emotions wasn't helping anyone. I've been working up the courage to sing one of his songs. It sounds silly, but I feel closest to him when I'm singing."

"That doesn't sound silly," I assure her. She looks at me with her watery, tear-filled eyes, and manages a slight smile in thanks.

"Like he's not so far away," she continues. "But I just wasn't ready to feel everything I felt when I sang that. Everything just hit me all at once. I remembered every little thing about him that I loved, and that I hated, and it kills me to know I'll never get to be annoyed at him again, or hug him, or tell him that I love him," the tears came back with a vengeance.

I scoot over closer to her, and pull her tight against my side. She falls into me. As she cries, I adjust my position, trying not to disturb her. I shift so that I'm leaning against the armrest, and she's curled up on her side, her head on my stomach. I stroke her hair as her tears subside. My heart is breaking for this girl. Also, despite the fact that she's been crying, my heart skips a beat at the sight of her falling asleep on top of me.

Finally, her eyes flutter closed, and her breathing evens out. She looks peaceful in her sleep. I can't help the corners of my mouth from turning up. I continue to sun my fingers through her hair, until I feel the lids of my eyes becoming heavy as well. My hands slow, and stop, my fingers tangling in her hair. I fight to keep my eyes open, but it's futile. So I give up and let sleep claim me.

**Soooo…how you guys likin' it? Don't worry, it'll get better. I promise. I've got a few more things planned out, then it'll either end, or I'll just go with it. :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alrighty! Thanks for reading, and to those of you who review!**

**Noodles307: yeesh! That **_**is**_** weird! That's actually such a ridiculous coincidence!**

**I have not acquired the rights to anything about South of Nowhere since the last time I posted *le sigh* anyway, enjoy (:**

I'm pulled from the sweet oblivion of sleep when something on my stomach moves. I squint –it's the best I can manage at the moment- through my heavy-lidded eyes to see what's going on. I can't help my stomach from flipping when I see Ashley laying on it, her arms wrapped around my middle.

She shifts again, and I know she's waking up too. I let my eyes drift closed again, content to lay like this until she wakes up too. It's not long before she does. In a matter of minutes, she lifts her head up. My arms are pulled upwards too, and I realize, rather embarrassed, that my fingers are still tangled in her hair. I manage to pry my eyes open again, and gently manoeuvre my hands out of her curls.

"I'm so sorry," I say, letting my arms fall.

"For?" She looks genuinely confused; her tired, red-rimmed eyes big and questioning. When I don't answer right away, she keeps talking. "I should be the one apologizing, not you," I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a finger to shush me. "Hear me out. You are the nicest, sweetest, _kindest _person I have ever met, and what do I do? I have a breakdown in your living room. And fell asleep on top of you. I'm sorry Spence. So sorry," she finishes softly.

"Ash, you've got nothing to apologize about," She looks like she's about to say something, but I shake my head and continue. "Not a single thing. Look, I know exactly what you're going through. I lost my brother a few years ago," I'm glad I'm done with crying, because I really don't want this day to be marred with too many tears. Ashley's tears were from fresh, painful grief and longing. I've already spent those tears of mine.

She reaches out and takes my hand. Empathy is written all over her face. I'm very glad it's not pity, because I've gotten enough of that. I squeeze her hand lightly. Neither of us speaks for a while. Then, as I'm looking out the window, I realize something: it's getting dark.

"Shit!" I jump up. "What time is it?" I ask no one in particular, seeing as I'm grabbing my phone and flipping it open as I say it. "It's eight. You don't have anywhere to be, right?" I ask her, biting my lip nervously. I don't want to be the reason Ashley was late for something important.

"Me? Nah, but I should probably go. I've wasted pretty much your whole day!" She stands, stretching. Her hair looks slightly dishevelled.

"You can stay for dinner, if you want," I offer, the words surprising me as much as her. "I mean, it's kinda late, and I'm hungry, so I'm sure you are too. I'll just make something quick," I really want her to say yes. I don't want her to go just yet.

"Really?" She looks surprised. I nod. "If you're not sick of me, then sure. Thanks," she offers me a mega-watt smile.

"Me? Sick of you? _Never_," I say exaggeratedly, shaking my head. I grin back at her as I make my way –the whole 6 steps (gasp)- into mine and Chelsea's tiny kitchen. It's our "art-free zone". Neither one of us wants to be eating paint of clay dust, so Chelsea keeps it out of the kitchen. "So what do you want to eat?" I ask, pulling the fridge door open.

"Anything. Surprise me."

"Well I don't know what you like! Or what you don't! Or if you're allergic to anything! You need to help me out a little!"

"Okaaaaay," she drags the word out as she thinks. "I like almost everything, and I'm not allergic to anything. I'm pretty easy to cook for."

"No you're not! That didn't help me at all!"

"Too bad," she says with a sly grin. She makes her way back to the living room and sinks into the couch.

"You're infuriating," I say, but I can't keep the smile off my face, or the laughter from bubbling up in my chest.

"I know," she replies simply.

"Hey, so you two are up!" Chelsea's voice floats down the hallway, slightly muffled. Ashley shoots upright and whirls around on the couch. I hear her footsteps, and soon enough, Chelsea's standing with me in the kitchen.

"When'd you get home?" I ask.

"A couple hours ago. You guys were asleep, so I've been reading," She holds up a thick paperback with curling pages from use for effect. "So, dinner? I'm pretty hungry."

"Yep," I answer brightly. "Just trying to think of what to make."

"Spence," she hesitates, looking at me with trepidation. "Is that really a good idea? I mean, no offence, but you're not exactly world's greatest chef."

I pout. "I know, but I'm not _that _bad," she looks at me sceptically. "Alright, maybe I am! But I can make like…stir-fry. I think, at least."

"How 'bout you let me cook, and you can go talk to Ashley?" She says, laughing, but subtly shooing my out of the kitchen.

"Alright," I agree, flopping onto the couch beside Ashley. "It seems I will not be making you dinner tonight," I say, smiling. "But don't worry, Chelsea's a great chef. Much better than me. You're less likely to get food poisoning this way."

She erupts into laughter. Between fits, she manages to spit out: "so…you..were…willing…to…risk…giving…me…food…poi...poisoning?" She looks like she's about to fall off the couch, she's laughing so hard. I can't help it, I'm laughing too.

I can barely breathe, my body shaking silently. I gasp for air every few seconds, and n that time, I manage a retort. "Anything to get you to stay," as soon as it's out of my mouth, we're both laughing so hard it hurts.

Suddenly the ground is falling away, and I'm met with a much harder one. I land on my side, and all the air in my lungs is forced out. There's a sharp jolt of pain through my shoulder. Ashley's stopped laughing. She's leapt off the couch and is kneeling beside me, looking concerned. The moment I catch my breath, the giggling starts again. Ashley looks relieved, and then succumbs to the strange hilarity of the situation.

In the kitchen, Chelsea chuckles. "You two are crazy, you know that?" already, there's a delicious aroma coming from the stove. I can't manage a reply for a few minutes. By the time the laughter's subsided though, there's no point answering. Ashley and I lay on the floor, and I can only assume how insane we looked moments ago; rolling on a paint-covered sheet on the floor, laughing like hyenas.

I sit up, leaning against the couch. My shoulder's pressed against Ashley's and neither of us moves away. It's so nice and comfortable with her. It's hard to believe I've only known her for a day. I guess it helped that we got all awkwardness over with right at the start. She fell asleep with her head on my stomach. Who cares if our shoulders are touching?

"Dinner's ready!" Chelsea calls. I leap up. Food! Finally! In my haste to get to the food, I almost forget about Ashley. Almost. I turn around and offer her a hand. She grabs it, and I pull her up. Still holding it, I drag her to the table.

"Hungry much, Spence?" Her eyes glitter with life and laughter.

"Maybe a little," I concede. "Ooh! Yum! Spaghetti!"

"Chelsea, this looks great," Ashley says politely, smiling charmingly at her. Chelsea waves away the compliment, blushing slightly. We all take our seats. I try and restrain myself a little. It's hard though. I'm _starving._

As we eat, we talk idly. Chelsea and Ashley are getting along great. I was a little absent from the conversation for the first few minutes, due to the fact that my mouth was constantly full. They talked easily though, not awkwardly in the least. They made jokes at my expense, and gave each other the run-down of their lives. When I check back into the conversation, they accommodate me readily. It doesn't feel awkward, or like the conversation is going between two people, leaving one out.

It's all going great until Chelsea decides to pull out the Spencer-being-super-duper-dumb stories. I blush profusely as she describes basically every dumb/awkward/clumsy thing I have ever done. And believe me, I've done a lot. Ashley's laughing with Chelsea, and my face is getting more flushed with each story.

"Okay, okay," I hold my hands up in defeat. "We get it. I do stupid things," they nod in agreement. "I vote new topic," I say, grinning.

"Awe, no fair!" Ash mock-whines. "This was just getting good. You're such a klutz!" She thinks for a second. "Alright, fine. What about you, Chelsea? You paint, you sculpt, and you cook. Is there anything you can't do?"

A blush spreads over Chelsea's cheeks. "Well I'm terrible at anything musical, or athletic. And I'm terrible at languages!" She exclaims. "I was going to study art in Paris, but I can't speak French to save my life. Not a single word of it," she leans back in her chair.

Ashley laughed. "Neither can I! It all sounds gibberish!"

"Well Spence can speak it. I've tried to get her to teach me, but I can't pick it up."

Ashley turns to me. "You can speak French?"

"_Oui,_" I say. "_Je parle un petite peu de français,_" I flash a smile across the table.

"That is so sexy," she says, before clamping her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry Spence!"

"For what? Telling me I'm sexy?" I grin. Ashley's face is flushed, and Chelsea's snickering.

"It's not that I think you're sexy, the fact you can speak French is," she stammers.

"Oh, so I'm not sexy?" I tease. She looks flustered.

"You are! I mean, look at you!" She changes the subject abruptly, clearly uncomfortable. "Uhm, Chelsea, do you want some help?" Chelsea's clearing the table, a smile dancing on her features.

"Sure," she says gratefully, and I rise to help too.

"For what it's worth, I think you're pretty alright too," I say to Ashley, making her blush even more. I have no idea where this side of me came from.

When everything in the kitchen has been put away, Ashley turns to me. "I should be going now," she says. "I had a great time today. Thank you for everything," I'm dying. Her smile is actually too adorable. "Do you want to meet up again? So you can get your interview?" She looks at the ground, embarrassed.

"Definitely, sounds great," I smile. "You're gonna have to remind me how to get to your house," I say as I open the door for her.

"Oh, right, you drove. Forgot about that. Just gotta grab my guitar," she says, walking over to where she left it. She grabs it, and we leave.

The drive to her house is fairly quiet, but comfortably so. When I pull into her driveway, she turns in her seat to face me. "I just wanted to say thanks again. For everything."

"No problem," I smile. "And thank _you_! For agreeing to do my film, and really, I had a great day."

She leans over the console and wraps her arms around me. I return the slightly awkward hug. She pulls back and opens her door. "I'm free all day tomorrow too. Do you want to meet up then?" She bites her lip.

"Sure. I've got classes in the morning, but after one, I'm not doing anything."

"Alright. Send me a text?"

"Of course," I say, wondering if I'll ever be able to peel this smile from my face. It doesn't seem to want to come off. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you!" She smiles brilliantly at me one last time before clambering out of my car, lugging her guitar behind her. She makes her way to her door, but turns around and waves before entering her house. I pull out of her driveway, and head home. I'm buzzing with electricity. It feels as though someone's run a current through me. I don't know how I'll ever get to sleep, with Ashley's face smiling back at me every time I close my eyes.

**Hey! So hope you liked it! Pretty please review? I'm not going to be one of the people who withhold unless you review, but I'd really like to get some feedback. I've got absolutely nothing against criticism either, so go ahead. :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**I wish I owned South of Nowhere, but I don't.**

**Alright! Thanks to everyone who's read this from the beginning, and thanks to everyone who's just started. Thanks to the people who reviewed, favourited, and alerted, thanks to the people who didn't. Thanks to the people who like this, and thanks to the people who didn't but still gave it a read. I love you guys :3**

**Anyway, it has been brought to my attention that my chapters are extremely short, so from here on out, I'll try to make them longer! (See? Reviewing= goodgood)**

Cool air hits my body, jolting me awake. My eyes fly open, and I see Chelsea standing above me, looking slightly annoyed. I close my eyes again, and feel blindly for my comforter. My fingers find the edge of it and pull it up to my chin. I'm drifting off again when the blanket's yanked off of me again. Frowning, I pull myself up so I can scowl at my room mate.

"Spencer. Get. Out. Of. Bed. This. Instant." Okay, so maybe she's a little more than slightly annoyed. Chelsea doesn't get mad all that easily, and she's glaring daggers at me. Out of sheer terror, I manage to drag myself off my bed.

"You okay?" I ask, looking warily at her through half-closed eyes.

She rolls her eyes in response. Not a good sign. "Spencer, do you know how many times I woke you up this morning?" She asks, sounding so much like a reprimanding mother it makes me cringe. I shake my head. "Four. Four freaking times! And you kicked me in the stomach!" I bite my lip and look apologetically up at her. I'd apologize now, but you don't want to interrupt her when she's on a tirade. Her face and voice soften when she sees my expression. "You'll be late if you don't hurry," she says, pointing to the clock. 6:47. I have a photography class at 8, and a bus to catch at 7:15.

"Chels, I'm sorry," I say, and watch all remnants of annoyance disappear from her face. She's such a softie; she can't stay mad at anyone for any length of time.

"It's alright, just _go._ Don't want to be late again," she says, smiling. I hate morning classes with a passion.

I shower and dress in light speed. I pull on some comfy clothes and stumble, still half-asleep, to the kitchen. I have ten minutes before I need to be out the door. Chelsea pushes a bowl of Captain Crunch –my favourite- into one hand, and a spoon in the other. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's a godsend.

I eat quickly, and put my dishes away. Check the clock on the stove. Still have three minutes. As I grab my stuff, I stifle a yawn and turn to face Chelsea. "When are you working today?" She works at a little art gallery not too far from our house. She thought working there would be a great way to learn about the art world outside of class, and applied within weeks of us moving here.

"8:30. And classes starting at noon."

"Ooh, busy day. Well have fun!" I call over my shoulder as I slip out the door. I make it to the bus stop right on time. I flash the driver my pass and sink onto a seat. I pull out my phone to check the time. Alright, that's a lie. I want to see if Ashley has texted me yet. She hasn't. Disappointed, I push my phone back into my pocket.

Near the end of my French class, my phone illuminates in my pocket. I glance at it, and try to contain the smile already tugging at my lips. It's from Ashley.

**9:40**

**Morning (: How's class? **

**Ashley**

The _professuere, _Madame Moreau, is droning on about conjugating verbs. I send a quick reply.

**9:42**

**Morning? As in good? They're never good :P Boring, as always. What are you up to?**

**Spence**

It only takes a minute before I get a message back.

**9:43**

**Take it you're not a morning person? What class? Nothing really, haha.**

**Ash**

I love that she doesn't use shortcuts in her texts. Those just bother me. I don't use them, ever, even if it means it'll take longer to write.

**9:45**

**Not exactly. XD French. Hate it. Haha, well I'm jealous. That sounds much better than this. :P**

**Spence**

**9:48**

**(1/2)I'm not either. My sister came over super early so she could tell me all about her boyfriend. Don't know why it couldn't wait. :P **

**(2/2)French? Awesome! I definitely think you should teach me some sometime. **

**Ash**

**9:52**

**Haha, that sucks. At least I'm not the only one suffering :P If you want, but I'm not very good at it.**

**Spence**

**9:56**

**Rude, much? XD Oh, shut up. I'm sure you're great.**

**Ash**

We text back and forth for the remainder of the morning. I'm afraid I can't recall a single thing from any of my classes. We ironed out the details for the day. She'll meet me at my house at around 2, and we'll do the interview. I'm a little nervous that once the interview is done, we won't talk anymore. The voice of reason tells me to calm down though, and that we'll definitely still talk and hang out. I mean, I've never had such an instantaneous connection with someone before. We just click.

I throw all my stuff into my bag and prepare to leave my last class of the day. I sling it over my shoulder, walking for the door. Once outside, I begin to walk towards the bus stop. I freeze when I see a familiar face smiling at me from a few feet away. Stunned, it takes me a moment to get my feet to communicate with my head. Finally, my legs decide to listen and carry me over to her.

"Ashley? What are you doing here?" I ask incredulously.

"First off," she says, handing me a cup of coffee. "Caffeine. I didn't know what you like, so I got you the same as me. Half coffee, half French vanilla. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's great," I say, still shocked. "Thanks," I take a sip of the warm beverage. "Mmmm," I hum. "This is delicious."

"Oh, good. I was really hoping you'd like it. Well I figured you'd rather have a ride than have to take a bus, so here I am," she smiles.

"Oh, jeez. That's so nice. Thanks," I say, falling into step beside her as she navigates to the parking lot.

"No problem," we've stopped in front of a black convertible. "Also, maybe I didn't want to wait till 2 to see you," she says, a sly grin on her face as she slides into the driver's seat.

I'm a little taken aback. I don't know what to say to that. It takes till I'm seated in the car for me to get words out of my mouth. "Well I kinda didn't want to wait either, so I guess this worked out pretty well."

The drive isn't very long, and I'm a little sad about it. I am in love with this car. The top's rolled down, and I'm enjoying the breeze, warm sun, and amazing sense of freedom. I throw my hands in the air, loving the feel of the air rushing past my fingertips. Ashley tries her hardest not to laugh, but a chuckle still escapes.

Too soon we're at my apartment. "That was fun!" I exclaim.

She laughs. "First time in a convertible?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only a little. But yeah, that was fun," she smiles, shaking her head at my antics.

When we get inside, we head straight for the couch. I want to make sure she's okay first before I bring out the camera. I don't want to make her nervous. Also, I don't want to jump right into it, I just want to hang out with her a little longer.

"So your sister was over this morning?" I ask.

"Yep. Bright and early. Nine o'clock, if you'll believe it," She says dramatically.

I mock-gasp at her words. "Nine o'clock? But that's ridiculous!"

"I know! I'm seriously starting to regret giving her a key. It'd be fine if it was something important. But no. Just her boyfriend, Sean. He's a nice enough guy, but seriously? Hearing about him is not better than sleep."

"That doesn't sound anywhere near as good as sleep," I concede.

"I know, right? So Spence, before we do this whole interview thing, can I ask you something?

"Yeah, of course. Anything," I say, and I mean it.

"What's your last name? I actually have no idea what it is. I realized that last night, and…just…I dunno. It's weird." She laughs, and I do too. I can't believe I never told her my lat name! That would be so weird. I can picture myself trying to guess Ashley's last name, had I not known it.

"Alright, let me introduce myself properly," I hold out a hand for her to shake. "Spencer. Spencer Carlin." Her eyes go wide as I finish. Her grip on my hand goes slack. I'm freaking out a little, wondering what I did or said wrong. "Ash? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she says, recovering.

"What was that about?" I query, concern ringing in my voice.

"Oh, uh, nothing," her voice sounds high and fake, so I know she's lying.

"Ashley, tell me. Please?" I'm starting to really panic now.

"I just recognized your last name, that's all," I'm confused. Where'd she recognize it from, and why on earth did it make her react like that?

"From?" I prompt.

She looks at me hesitantly, like she's debating whether or not she should come clean. She must have realized I need to know, because, biting her lip one last time, she tells me. "Clay Carlin…the boy who died in that drive-by a couple years ago…that was your brother, wasn't it?" She asks softly.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. I can't help it. I wasn't expecting that. I can't let more tears fall. I don't want every single encounter I have with this girl to involve crying. "Yes, that was him," I say, trying to dam the tears building up inside.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry. So sorry," She says gently, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"It's fine; I'm fine," I say, not allowing myself to relax into her. If I do, I won't be able to stop crying. She pulls away and brushes my tear away with her thumb.

"No, you're not. But it's okay. You will be. I promise," she whispers the last part. She's leaning towards me, and I close my eyes, building my walls up, because I know that when she hugs me again, I'll need them. Instead though, I feel soft lips on my own. The kiss is sweet and chaste, lasting only a few seconds. My eye open, and my defences fall away.

She's looking nervously at me, wondering if she messed up. "I'm sorry! We hardly know each other. I'm so sorry. Uhm, I really didn't mean to do that. It'll never happen again, I swear," she looks panicky. To show her she did nothing wrong, I silence her with another kiss. It lasts longer than the first one, but is every bit as sweet. I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight.

We lay on the couch again, much like yesterday. But this time I'm curled up against her, and she's the strong one. I'm the one broken, in need of fixing. We need each other. She's strong for me, and I am for her.

After a half hour or so, she speaks, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Have you done anything for closure?" She asks, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on my back. I shake my head. No. Nothing.

"Well maybe you should," she suggests carefully, not wanting to upset me. "It's been two years," she adds. I want closure, I do. I'm just not sure how to get it.

"How though?" I ask, looking up at her.

"I dunno. It's different for everyone. I'm trying to get it through music. Maybe you should try through what you love," a light bulb goes off in her head; I can tell by the way her eyes light up. "Like this video project thing; maybe it would have more impact if you did it about your brother," she's still talking slowly, watching my face for anything telling her to stop. I listen though. It is time I got closure, and this doesn't sound like a bad idea. I nod again.

"You'd be okay though? I mean, it was supposed to be about you…" I trail off. She laughs, the sound beautiful and clear, and totally unexpected.

"Spencer, I'm terrified of talking while the camera's rolling. I think I'm definitely okay with it," she places a kiss atop my head.

"Okay," I say with a smile. I pull myself up and kiss her again.

**Sooooooo….. whaddya think? Good? Bad? Horrible? Let me know. Tell me if you think I should continue in this direction or not. And sorry, I tried to make it longer, I did. And it is a bit longer than the other ones, but…yeah. Pretty short. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, first off, stilllll don't own anything South of Nowhere related. **

**A/N: I'm so sorry. I've been ridiculously busy, and kinda uninspired.**

**Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed, and asked me to keep going with this, because you're really the reason I am.**

We spend the next hour on that couch. Just laying there, listening to her breathing, feeling her fingers run through my hair. When her breathing is deep and steady, and her fingers have stopped moving, I gently disentangle my body from hers. I carefully -so as not to wake her- pull myself off the couch.

I'd stay if I could, but I can't. Not if I want to do this anyway. From under the coffee table, I grab a phonebook. I flip through until I find the number I need, scribble it down, and replace the phonebook. I tiptoe into my bedroom, glancing over my shoulder at Ashley's sleeping form as I do so.

I dial the number, and speak quietly into the phone when a man answers. With a smile, I hang up. I tiptoe back into the other room. I sit beside her sleeping form, and stroke her hair. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead and whisper "time to get up, sleepyhead," in her ear.

Confused, her bleary eyes open partway, and her eyebrows come together. "Hngggg?" is the noise that comes from her mouth.

Holding back laughter, I say "C'mon, get up," softly.

"Whyyyyyy?" She queries, a little more coherent, but also a little whinier.

"Because! We've got things to do!"

"What? Since when? Can't we just sleep?"

"Up, up, up!"

"Let me sleep for ten more minutes?"

"Nope! C'mon, pleaseeeee?"

"Fine."

She begins to drag her tired form off the couch. Impatiently, I pull her up. She stretches and yawns, her shoulders cracking. Her adorable face scrunches as she yawns, and I feel my lips being pulled upwards.

"Do I look okay?" She asks, turning to me.

I look her up and down, an exaggerated expression of concentration on my face. Of course she looks okay; I didn't even need to look to be able to tell her she looks incredible. "I guess it'll have to do," I say jokingly. She sticks her tongue out at me.

"So where are we going anyway?"

"It's a super-secret surprise," I wink.

I take her hand in mine, and lead her to my beat up old car, ignoring her pleas to be told what we're doing and where we're going. It's incredible, just being able to do this: hold her hand.

As I drive, the car falls silent. I'm completely lost in thought. What are we? Are we together? I want to know, but I really don't want to ask. I feel like if I do, I'll lose it. I'll lose whatever we have. I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

I guess I'll just have to show her that I want a relationship, and hope she does too.

**A/N: Gosh, I know this was incredibly short. Sorry it wasn't worth the months of wait. It's a start though, and I promise I'll keep going and never leave it so long again. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible, and it'll be longer.**


End file.
